


A Moment

by Pixial



Series: Tiptoe Through the Library [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mostly a character exercise, Simple and sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixial/pseuds/Pixial
Summary: Lavellan is taking a much needed nap, and Dorian reflects that he hadn't anticipated falling in love.





	

Lord Inquisitor Caim Lavellan was a busy man. He dashed through Skyhold on various errands, shuffling from one task to another with cheerful efficiency. There were a thousand things to attend to when one sat at the head of an army, and the Inquisitor seemed bound and determined to see to them personally. To the ordinary men and women of the Inquisition, he seemed a supernatural force, no longer simply an elf, but a being so filled with divine purpose that he was above the needs of mortality. After all, he had a knack for appearing just when needed, and he certainly never seemed to eat or spend much time in his quarters. It made sense that the Herald did not require something as banal as sleep.

 

Which was, Dorian reflected as he studied his lover who currently lay in what he hoped were blissful dreams, quite the problem. Lavellan required sleep. He just didn't get enough of it. On the increasingly rare occasions Dorian could convince him to bed, the Inquisitor slept like a rock.

 

The mage sighed and turned another page in his book. Lavellan looked almost peaceful tangled in the bedsheets, sprawled like across almost the entirety of the large bed-- a feat that still managed to impress Dorian. How an elf so slight managed to take up so much space, he’d never understand. His hair spread out across the pillows in river of copper. (A trifle too long to be in fashion, but Dorian reflected that it certainly made quite a sight when the Inquisitor let it fall from its normally restrained bun.) The only thing marring the picture of serenity was the crease between his eyebrows. It gave him a far more serious expression than his beloved usually bore, a constant reminder that these moments of gentle quiet were only that. Mere moments in a living nightmare of a world. If he had his way… Lavellan would never have gained that crease in the first place.

 

Dorian huffed as a scowl turned his lips, chiding himself for the dark turn of thoughts. It simply didn't do for a mage of his power and lineage, outcast or otherwise, to dwell on childish what-ifs. The world was what it was, and as odd as it seemed, it had granted him a joy he honestly didn't deserve. 

 

“Not that it stopped you,” he grumbled affectionately to the unconscious Lavellan. He hadn't planned on this. A bit of flirting, some minor canoodling, sure. But this? This whole… falling in love thing? That simply hadn't been intended. After all, his previous forays into that dangerous territory were painfully awkward at best and excruciating heartbreaking at worst. 

 

But Lavellan had marched into his life with a glib tongue and an insufferably endearing idealism and simply bowled over Dorian’s plans without so much as a thought. No. That wasn't quite right. He _had_ asked, had offered a way out. Dorian just hadn't been able to take it.

 

Strangely enough, he couldn't bring himself to regret that decision. Lavellan was everything he could ever have wanted and more. Smart, witty, stunning… And generous, open-hearted, loving. He’d looked at Dorian, a member of the empire that had worked so hard to erase every trace of the elven people, the son of magister-- in short, the _enemy_ of the Inquisition… And he’d simply taken him at face value. Had accepted his offer of assistance, _trusted_ him when Alexius’ spell had shot the world to hell. 

 

And he’d loved him. Unbelievably, unrelenting and unconditional. Within the span of a short, terrifying few months, Dorian found himself attached to the man of his dreams. A man whose life could be taken away at any moment during all of those operations he had to attend to personally. 

 

“Bit rude of you, really,” Dorian murmured, glancing away from the book to study Lavellan’s sleeping face. “You waltz in with your absolute perfection, and now I’m stuck caring whether you live or die or not? Honestly, it’s hardly fair. I can't walk away now.”

 

He shook his head and forced himself to return to the book. A treatise on the theoretical connection of elementals and spirits was easier to focus on than his own confusing emotions, and studying it might actually _benefit_ the Inquisition. 

 

The sheets rustled, and Dorian was distracted once more as an arm stretched across his waist. He looked down and met a bleary smile and a pair of honey-gold eyes that made his heart skip a beat or two.

 

“Sorry about that, love,” said Lavellan around a yawn, nestling himself closer. “Not all of us had the benefits of growing up in the great Tevinter courts.”

 

Dorian smiled and kissed the top of his head. “It’s just as well you’ve got me along to teach you some manners.”

 

“Mmm… Just as well. I’ll add it to the list of reasons I’m glad you're here.”

 

“You’re keeping a list now?”

 

Lavellan smirked, stretching up for a proper kiss. “Of course. Alphabetized and everything.”

 

“My, that sounds thorough,” Dorian replied as he set his book down in favor of holding his lover. “I don't suppose I could see that at some point. Maybe add a few you’ve missed?”

 

“Perhaps.” Lavellan grinned before a yawning once more, ducking his head in apology. Dorian’s expression softened into something uncomfortably close to lovestruck. He truly was over his head. 

 

“Bah, we can admire my many virtues at a later date,” he said with another fond kiss. “It’s all too likely someone will come clamoring for your attention before we got properly started.” He was rewarded with a snort from Lavellan. His Advisors had acquired a knack for poor timing.

 

“Go back to sleep, _amatus_. You’ll be needed soon enough.”


End file.
